


Drag Me Home

by athena_crikey



Series: The Queen and I [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Asahi is a fashion designer, Birthday parties gone right, Drag Queens, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Bar, M/M, Noya is a drag queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Asahi realises he’s stopped breathing and forces himself to look away, down at his drink. Empty. He lifts it to his lips anyway, drinking the tiny amount of ice that’s melted since he finished it, his throat terribly dry. When he looks up again Blue Thunder has her back to the audience and is swaying her ass, her arms wrapped around herself, caressing her thin body, her head tilted to show just a flash of a playful smile.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Series: The Queen and I [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739770
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	Drag Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> So I've wanted to write a drag queen au for quite a while, but have been foiled by the fact that I don't actually know anything about drag? But luckily quarantine has allowed me to binge youtube, and now here we are...

Asahi left the closet behind him years ago, his former identity buried in the Miyagi hills. It’s not that no one cares in Tokyo – he’s definitely run up against indifference, disgust, and even hate. But working for a fashion designer is an amazing experience of positivity and inclusion, and slowly as the years pass his anxieties about being out wear away. Like a rock in a tumbler he goes in all sharp, jagged edges and comes out smooth, silken. _You’re a beautiful soul, Asahi_ , the head designer at his house once told him, and he thinks that if he is, it’s only the boundless support of his friends and colleagues that’s allowed it to become apparent. 

Despite that, though, his lifestyle is verging on bland. Oh, there have been boyfriends, but not many and none permanent. There has been clubbing and gay bars and karaoke contests, but that’s all pretty normal too. Asahi doesn’t watch a lot of queer TV, doesn’t buy magazines or books by gay authors or for a gay audience. He’s happy with himself the way he is without needing to seek out a richer life, without needing to immerse himself in queer culture.

Except. 

Except when his colleagues invite him out to a gay bar hosting a drag queen event for his 24th birthday, Asahi says yes. He has no experience with queens, is only peripherally aware of their existence. Japan has a long history with crossdressing and genderbending, but when Asahi thinks of queens he thinks of America: of big hair, make-up slapped on with a trowel, and heels high enough to break ankles. 

“It’ll be fun, Asahi,” says fellow junior-designer Megumi, who helped arrange the outing. “They put on a real show, you know. And their clothes and make-up are simply _stunning_.”

“So I understand,” says Asahi, who doesn’t really understand at all. He doesn’t have any problem with crossdressing, but he also has never seen the appeal. Women’s clothes are gorgeous, of course, and in the fashion industry female apparel is the money maker. To wear fabulous dresses and make-up and look divine in them would be amazing. But Asahi will never look divine in a dress – he is too big, too buff, his face too masculine. And if a man in a dress looks like a woman, well, where’s the attraction there? 

Still, there will be music and alcohol and entertainment, so Asahi doesn’t mind. If his colleagues want to go see a drag show, well, that’s what they’ll do.

  
***

The bar is called _Pretty Things_. It’s a gay bar and well-equipped for small shows, dancing and karaoke. There’s a long bar along one wall with mirrors opposite to open out the room, and at the far end is a 30cm-tall stage lined with lightbulbs. The floor, ceiling and stage are painted black; the ceiling is hung with white fairy lights that give it a starry look, in addition to the small strobe lights for dancing. The tables leave room for walking and dancing. Someone’s decorated the wall behind the stage with big, shiny stars and an immense crescent moon.

The event has drawn a pretty even audience of gay men and straight women; Asahi gathers from the chatter he overhears that the drag queens often play this venue and are local celebrities. Music is pulsing in the background but not so loud that they can’t talk. He and his coworkers find a table and sit, starting off with cocktails. Asahi, not a big mixed-drink fan, orders a screwdriver and nurses it quietly while around them the crowd grows. 

The show starts at ten, and as they approach the hour the bar is getting full, the air hot and sweaty. The music starts getting faster-paced, the beat heavier, Asahi’s back teeth thrumming with the bass. At ten o’clock someone from the bar gets up on the stage and the music cuts out, lights focusing on him. He’s dressed plainly in a bartender’s outfit, black hair cut short, and he’s stacked. 

“Hello Shibuya!”

There’s a brief, ferocious roar from the crowd. 

“I’m Sawamura, and I’m pleased to see you all. We’re here tonight to welcome our favourite queens, the rulers of this stage and your hearts: Sugar, Kitty Pie, and Blue Thunder!”

As the audience screams the lights go out. A moment later they come back up and Sawamura has been replaced by a group of three women. Then the music starts. 

Asahi watches, shocked and entranced, as the three queens strut the stage to Bootylicious. Their lips move in perfect time with the lyrics, as if it’s them who’s singing. They move beautifully: smooth, confident and seductively. Their hips sway to the beat, their long-nailed hands sliding over their luscious bodies. While Asahi is aware that they must be wearing huge amounts of make-up, from his table several meters back it only serves to accentuate the lines of their faces, their lips lush and pouting, their eyes huge and surprisingly lovely.

There are three queens, and as the song goes on Asahi notices that each has a different style. The one called Sugar has silver hair pulled into a long braid that’s been coiled on her head with a small crow perched in the top of it. Pulling the hair back from her face allows her to accentuate the delicate lines of her cheeks and her creamy white skin; there’s a beauty mark beside her mouth that’s unaccountably sexy. Her outfit is a black leotard speckled with white beads like grains of sugar, her black heels chunky platforms. She moves lithely, with a grace that out-does the other two, her hand motions elegant and impeccable, her ass fabulous.

Kitty Pie is tall, even without the black stiletto heel ankle boots. She’s wearing a skin-tight red pleather bodysuit that shows off every padded curve of her figure. Her moves are athletic, high-kicking and bumping her ass all the way down to the floor, her limbs long and made deceptively slender by the bodysuit. Her hair is an immense dark sea, combed backwards to surround her face like an inverted halo. Her features are sharp, her make-up darker and thicker than Sugar’s, her lips ruby red. 

But it’s Blue Thunder Asahi can’t stop watching. She’s smaller than the other two – quite petite, Asahi thinks, although it’s hard to tell on the stage and with the heels. She’s wearing a skin-tight neon blue mini dress that hugs her ass, so short it’s hard for Asahi to take his eyes off the hem. Her thick hair is the same neon blue and rises like a broomstick’s bristles nearly thirty centimeters from her head, the ends close and spiky. She’s made her eyes appear huge and blue with her make-up, her lush lips a mauve colour. She moves with an energy the other two lack, spinning and bouncing to the beat, her movements endlessly fascinating to watch. 

The song wraps up, each of the three posing cleanly, seductively. The track changes and Waiting for Tonight comes on, up-beat but also more sensual. The queens adjust their dancing, moving lithely while they run their hands down their body and over their faces, their expressions wistful and longing. Now and again they meet each other on the stage; Asahi watches as Sugar runs her beautiful hand up Blue Thunder’s arm, her body leaning in like a lover would; it sends chills down his spine. A few seconds later Kitty Pie finishes a spin just beside Blue Thunder and reaches out, running her hand beneath the smaller queen’s chin and tilting it upwards seductively, as though for a kiss. 

Asahi realises he’s stopped breathing and forces himself to look away, down at his drink. Empty. He lifts it to his lips anyway, drinking the tiny amount of ice that’s melted since he finished it, his throat terribly dry. When he looks up again Blue Thunder has her back to the audience and is swaying her ass, her arms wrapped around herself, caressing her thin body, her head tilted to show just a flash of a playful smile. 

“See something you like, Asahi?” asks Megumi coyly. He glances at her and sees she’s smiling; he flushes. 

“Um. It’s very – it’s – they’re very good, aren’t they?”

“Mm-hmm. Which one do you think is the best?”

“Oh, I don’t think I could j-judge them,” stammers Asahi. 

“Which one do you _like_ best, then?” she purrs, resting her chin on the back of her hand. 

He looks back to the stage. The song is wrapping up; Blue Thunder is on her knees, eyes closed with a look of intense pleasure on her face, arms wrapped over her chest. Her mouth is open as if to receive a kiss, waiting invitingly. “Um,” says Asahi. 

Megumi laughs. “Alright, don’t tell me. But I’ll get it out of you sooner or later.”

 _Hopefully later_ , thinks Asahi. Much, much later, when this night is long done and embarrassment is no longer coiling like a snake in his gut. 

The next number begins and Asahi sits back and tries to catch a waitress’s eye.

  
***

After four numbers the queens pause, coming down into the crowd for drinks and to chat with the audience, while on stage one remains with a microphone talking to the crowd and in between calling out to the others what she wants – it’s Blue Thunder. Her voice is slightly feminized but not over-the-top, her act campy but hilarious. The queens are so free with each other, close but also fiercely insulting, taking it all with a shit-eating smile. Kitty Pie brings Blue Thunder a tray of shots and holds them while Blue Thunder tries one, smiling. Then she looks out over the crowd.

“Alright, I want to know whose birthday it is today! Who’s the lucky boy or girl?”

Asahi suddenly feels sweat beading on his back, sticking to his shirt. 

“Oh!” shouts Megumi, before he can throttle her. “Here! Over here!”

Asahi gives her a pleading look but Blue Thunder has already heard her. She hops down off the stage, legs together giving a little backwards kick and landing cleanly on immense heels, and sashays through the crowd. 

Blue Thunder pushes past a tall, buff guy dressed incongruously in a Hawaiian shirt, all plumeria and ferns, and all Asahi can think is that his mind is taking in the final details it will ever know before he has a heart attack and dies right here in this gay club. 

Up close, Blue Thunder is beautiful. She leans her body slightly to the side, one gel-nail-tipped hand resting on her hip, the other holding the microphone in a way that somehow leads Asahi to think obscene thoughts. Her eyes up-close are even wider than they appeared on stage, her lashes a centimeter long and quivering like a butterfly’s wings when she blinks. Her lips are full and luscious, curved in a captivating smile. “Is it your birthday?” she asks of Megumi.

“No – it’s his.” Megumi points at Asahi. Blue Thunder looks at him – really looks, her eyes sharp – and then she grins. This grin isn’t captivating, it’s devilish. 

“Mmm. Excellent! What’s your name, big guy?”

“Azumane,” breathes Asahi, so quietly it’s inaudible beneath the background music.

“Say what?”

“Azumane,” he says, louder.

“No, no, your first name.”

“Um. Asahi.”

“Asahi-san. Great. Come with me!” She curls one finger towards her chest. Unable to look away, Asahi slowly stands and skirts the table. This close he can see that while her eye make-up is blue, her eyes are a beautiful shade of amber. Even on heels her eyes are only level with his chin. She links her arm through his and leads him up to the stage, utterly cool and confident. Asahi hurries to keep up with her bouncing rhythm. 

“Think you can lift me up onto the stage, Asahi-san?” she asks him when they get there, turning to him. He swallows but reaches out slowly, hesitantly. She meets his hands and places them on her waist; it’s very narrow, but beneath the skin-tight blue dress he can feel the strength of her abs. He bobs and lifts, putting her up onto the stage. “My hero,” she grins, and then motions him up after her. He steps up. 

Kitty Pie is still holding the tray with shots – there are three left now. 

“We’re going to play a game, Asahi-san. There are three of us. Each one will tell you two lies and a truth. You have to pick out the truth. If you do, you get a shot. Okay?”

He nods. Sugar has returned to the stage; she and Kitty Pie are both taller than him in their heels, looming on either side of him like Amazons. Or, Asahi supposes, Glamazons. 

“I’ll go first,” croons Sugar, her voice more feminine than Blue Thunder’s, her face more dollish. “It’s a game of threes. I’ve dated three men with the same birthday. I’ve climbed Mt Fuji three times. I’ve been nominated three times to host the Shinjuku Drag Show.”

Asahi thinks about it. Really, there’s no way to know, so he decides on the one he thinks will flatter her most. “The Drag Show must be true,” he says, smiling. 

She smiles back, reaches out, and takes a shot. She tips it back with one smooth, graceful motion. “Sorry,” she says. “But thanks for thinking so.”

Kitty Pie hands the tray to Sugar. “My turn. I’ve walked a fashion runway in Milan. I’ve been in the Paris Fashion Week. I’ve starred on a NHK program about drag queens.”

Asahi looks at her. Her movements are excellent – she has the fierceness of a runway model, but not the poise. With the make-up, he can’t guess if her face would be good enough for Paris. The safest bet is the last. “I think the NHK program,” he says.

Kitty Pie smiles, lifts a shot glass, and downs the drink. “Sorry sweetie. Better luck next time.”

“Oo, me!” Blue Thunder sidles forward, her hip pressing up against Asahi’s; he feels himself flush. “Good luck,” she says, and winks at him. She takes the mic, and announces: “I went to the Nationals for volleyball when I was in high school. I won a drag race on the highway in Gunma. I won a cooking contest against a celebrity chef last year.”

Again, not enough information to make a good guess. But Asahi did feel her stomach, her abs hard as steel. So… “Volleyball nationals,” he says.

She takes the shot, lifts it, and hands it to him. “Congratulations,” she says with a grin. He takes the shot and drinks it while the audience cheers. 

He puts the shot glass down on the tray, feeling emboldened. “I went too,” he says. “To nationals.”

Blue Thunder blinks up at him, her mouth hanging open just slightly. He wonders what it would be like to kiss those mauve lips, to have them pressed against his neck, his nipple, his… “Really?” she says, and he can hear the genuine curiosity in her tone.

“Really.”

“Time for the contest, Blue,” calls Kitty Pie. 

Blue Thunder reaches out and squeezes his wrist. “Find me later. If you want to,” she adds. 

He swallows and nods, then gets off the stage. 

The lip sync contest begins.

  
***

Each queen performs two numbers, once up-beat, one slow and sexy. Asahi’s on his fourth cocktail of the night (plus shot), and is beginning to lose track of things. Sugar’s best at the sensuous dancing, her up-beat performance lagging a little. Kitty Pie on the other hand is better at the high-energy kicks and spins, and falls behind on the slow seductive song. Blue Thunder, in Asahi’s opinion, is fabulous at both. She dances up a storm to Work Bitch, and ends up lying on her back on the floor with her face tilted skyward in Black Velvet.

The winner is decided by audience applause, and despite Asahi’s thunderous clapping for Blue Thunder she loses out to Kitty Pie. 

It’s nearing midnight now, and his co-workers are getting restless. Asahi still can’t take his eyes off Blue Thunder. He never expected to be turned on by a drag queen, never expected to be taken in by the beauty and the elegance and the theatre and pageantry. He hadn’t understood how much character flows through, how much of her emotions and personality Blue Thunder can channel into the act. Drag isn’t just about wearing a dress and make-up, it’s about performance. Asahi feels enlightened. 

“We should be going, Asahi,” says Megumi, when the drag show wraps up. Other patrons are beginning to file out, people lining up to pay their bills. 

_Find me later_. Blue Thunder’s words are tying him down, holding him here. He looks up at Megumi. “I’ll stay a little longer,” he says. “Just me, I mean.” 

She frowns. “You want to stay alone?”

“Not for long. Just to cool off a bit,” he says. The others are making for the door, and Megumi hesitates. “You should go. I’ll be fine.” 

She finally nods. “Okay. But look after yourself.”

He smiles. “Of course.”

She waves and heads for the door. 

The house lights are up now, regular music filtering in through the speakers. The queens are at one end of the bar, talking to a small close-knit group of fans. Asahi can’t imagine going over there, can’t imagine breaking into that circle. He’s fine to watch from here, just wants to admire her a little longer. 

It’s silly. She’s a local celebrity, clearly has dedicated fans and the power to attract anyone she wants. Why would she be interested in him? He should just go before she forgets him, before something happens to put a damper on his memories of tonight. He stands, chair scraping on the black floor, and she looks over. 

From across the room their eyes meet, and Asahi pauses. She says something to the group she’s with, then pushes through them and struts across the floor. Asahi can’t help but notice how all eyes fly to her as she crosses the room, her every move telegraphing hedonism. She reaches him and stops, looking up, her hips cocked to one side. “Asahi-san. Are you leaving?”

“Um, I was thinking about it, but…”

“But you didn’t come to say goodbye,” she says, pouting. 

“I wanted to. I mean – I do. I just… I don’t want to bug you.”

Her eyes widen. “Bug me? Please – bug me!" She puts her long-nailed hands on the back of the chair closest to her, leaning forward slightly. “I don’t meet a lot of guys like you.”

“Like me?”

“Sweet. Shy. Nationals veterans,” she says, and he has the sense that the latter matters more than the former two. “I want to know more about you. That is, if you’re interested.”

“I am,” he says honestly, practically panting for it. 

“Then would you wait for me? I’m almost done here – we could go somewhere together.” Although likely that includes bed, her tone isn’t overtly sexual, is much more simple and open. He likes that. It’s enough to give him the confidence to agree.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll wait.”

  
***

She’s about ten minutes packing up her things and saying goodbye to her friends, and then they’re heading out into the cold January air. She’s wearing a knee-length faux-fur coat and carrying a small duffle bag; she takes his arm, pressing herself against his body. It’s enough to make his heart race, his internal temperature rising.

“Where should we go?” she asks. 

“We – we could go back to my place. Unless that’s too forward…”

Blue Thunder smiles. “You _are_ sweet. Your place is fine, if it’s not too far. These mules are killing me.”

He looks down; she’s wearing three-inch platform shoes. “I can see why,” he says. “Maybe you should invest in something with more arch support.”

“It doesn’t give me the height,” she replies. 

“Is that so important?”

“Not so much when I’m on my own. But when I’m with the other girls I look like a pygmy. I would with you, too, if I wasn’t wearing these. I can see how you could be a volleyball player. What position were you?”

“Wing spiker,” he replies. “I still play on a community team.”

“Wow – cool! I played libero. You probably guessed that. I mean, I still do – community league too.” They reach the subway and descend the steps, Asahi steadying her as she slowly teeters down. At this time of night the platform’s empty, just a couple of businessmen who give them surprised glances. Blue Thunder waves, smiling widely. 

“Do you go out in drag often? I mean, is it a lifestyle for you?”

“I do it for fun. At my level there’s hardly any money to be made – you’ve got to buy so much to be decent: wigs, clothes, make-up, shoes. It adds up. I barely break even. But I love it. I’m comfortable being my other self, too, but Blue Thunder has so much fun. It’s incredible.” She grins at him, her mauve lips wide, thrilled. 

“You’re very good. I’ve never really seen the appeal of drag. Until tonight.”

“Did I change your world view?”

“A little. I think you made it wider.”

She squeezes his hand as the train pulls into the station.

  
***

“Tell me about Nationals,” she says on the train, and he does. About his team, about Kageyama and Hinata, the amazing duo who are both pro now, about the ups and the downs, wins and losses. About seeing the stadium for the first time and realizing that this was it, he had made it and he was competing nationally.

In return, Blue Thunder tells him about her experience, about her seniors Daichi and Suga (“You saw them tonight”), and their amazing middle blocker Tsukishima. About her best friend Tanaka, their team’s ace and an incredible guy. About playing their guts out on the court in front of the watching nation. 

It’s a bond Asahi shares with very few people. It’s not just going to Nationals. It’s understanding the _years_ of work that went into it, practicing to the verge of collapse, injuries and heatstroke and heart-breaking losses. There’s so much behind it all, and she understands all of it.

They get off at Asahi’s stop and walk the two blocks to his apartment complex. It’s a quiet part of town, very residential, with just small family businesses nearby – no big stores, no shopping complexes. He likes it; on days when he works from home there’s no noise to distract him. They take the elevator up and he lets them into the apartment. 

“Finally,” exclaims Blue Thunder, and kicks off her shoes. Without them the top of her head is barely even with Asahi’s chin. “Do you mind if I take off my nylons?” she asks, and he shakes his head. She goes into the bathroom to do it while he goes to pour out some water. When she comes out she’s pushing her miniscule dress down over her ass, the fabric sticking to her skin more than it did to the nylons. Asahi looks away and sees the water’s overflowing from his glass. 

“Hi,” she says as she comes back. She comes up behind him, pressing up against him gently and resting her chin on his bicep. She reaches out and takes the glass he hands her, downing half of it in one go. “Ah, thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Um. I don’t know what I should call you?” 

“You can call me Yuu.”

“Oh. Is that what everyone else calls you?”

“No, they call me Noya. But I like you. You’re special, Asahi.”

He colours. “You don’t know that,” he mutters.

“Of course I do!” She looks around at the apartment; although tiny it’s clearly the ream of a fashion designer; there are bolts and rolls of fabric on the table, a dress form standing in the corner, and a wall with books on fashion. Asahi’s own appearance – a button-up shirt, tight jeans and dark-rimmed glasses only add to the impression. “You’re in fashion, obviously, and you’re cute and courteous and you like me. And you’re a volleyball ace. You were, weren’t you? I can tell.” She looks up at him, lips gleaming.

“I was,” he admits. 

“See! And you’re very sweet to me, which is nice, although to be honest I’m very thick-skinned. You could be rough, if you wanted to. I won’t mind.”

“Of course I couldn’t,” he stammers. “I – you, you’re so pretty, and perfect, and you deserve to be treated properly.”

Blue Thunder – Yuu – laughs. Throws back her head and laughs. “Asahi-san, that’s sweet. But you do realize that under this dress is a dick just like yours, right? I’m not made of glass.”

He lowers his head. “I know. I know, but… I don’t think anyone deserves to be treated badly,” he says.

“Hm, I don’t think rough is the same as bad. Not if that’s what you want. But from you, I don’t mind a little sugar.” She looks up at him. “Would you put me on the counter?”

He knows she can easily jump up for herself; as a libero and in the shape she’s in she could probably flip over it. But he puts his big hands on her narrow waist and lifts her. She reciprocates by putting her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in close. “Did you want to talk more?” she asks, her smile soft. 

“I think I’d like to kiss you,” he says honestly.

“Good answer.”

Then he’s leaning in, pressing his lips against hers and she’s hot and wet and sultry, her mouth opening and her tongue sliding against his. She’s practiced in a way he isn’t, is capable and confident and very, very sexy. She slides forward, dress inching up, and wraps her legs around his waist. She rolls her hips once and he moans. Her long nails slip through his hair, pulling out the tie and combing through his brown locks. One kiss turns into many, turns into sucking and biting, her beautiful teeth catching his lower lip between them and pulling gently while her hips roll against his. He’s panting hard, his arms around her. She’s stronger than she looks, her shoulders firm, her spine straight. 

They break away breathing hard, Yuu pressing her forehead against his. 

“Yuu…” his tone is uncertain, worried.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No! No, but… I don’t want to go too fast. I don’t want you to think this is who I am. I want you to come back again.”

Yuu smiles. “I can tell you’re not a one-night-stand kind of guy, Asahi-san. I like having fun, but I can recognize genuine quality when I see it. And you are S rank. I’d like something a little more permanent in my life. I’m open to trying that.”

Asahi exhales shakily. “Yuu…” His dick is throbbing, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. She looks so beautiful, some of her make-up sweated off now but her big amber eyes still entrancing, her mouth so seductive. 

“But if you’re open to going further…” she says, eyebrows rising, her long-nailed hand stroking down his chest towards his belt. Her fingers reach it and go lower; the pressure through his jeans is minimal, but it still makes his dick jump. 

“Oh. _Oh._ Yes. _Please._ ”

She smiles. She extends her arms, pushing him back, then slides easily off the counter. She undoes his belt and pushes his pants slowly down his hips, sinking to her knees. Asahi takes in a deep breath as she pulls his dick out of his underwear. “Oh, Asahi-san,” she whispers, eyes wide and wicked. “Very nice.” She lowers her head. “Don’t touch my hair, please,” she says, and then she’s taking him into her glorious mauve mouth, her lips surrounding his length, her cheeks hollowing. 

Her mouth is hot and wet and tight, her tongue running over and under his tip, up over the foreskin and along the slit. She moves to take more of him into her mouth, sucking, the pressure delicious. He’s breathing hard, hands fisted, eyes only half-open. She’s looking up at him with gleaming eyes, her purple lips luscious on the flushed skin of his cock; she reaches out and grasps the base of him, working him with her hand where her mouth can’t reach. 

It’s been months since someone else got him off, since there was anything other than his hand on his dick. He’d almost forgotten how good it is – no, it’s never been this good. The way she swirls her tongue, the way she grinds her fist up against his balls… it’s exhilarating, incredible. He starts thrusting, just tiny jerks of his hips, and she makes a pleased moan, eyes closing delightedly. 

“Nnh, Yuu, please – I – oh, please, Yuu…” he doesn’t know what he’s saying, he’s concentrating so hard on not reaching for her hair, not thrusting his cock into her face, on holding every inch of himself back. 

He’s not going to last long. He wants to impress her, wants to be good, but the truth is he’s overwhelmed by the sensation of her tongue licking against his sensitive flesh, running over his head, the fat tip of his dick lapped and laved and sucked and… “Oh god – I’m coming – Yuu, please – I’m…”

She doesn’t pull away and he comes in her mouth, emptying his seed down her quick-swallowing throat. She wipes away a bead of sweat from her forehead with a knuckle and smiles, sitting back. 

He lets out a shuddering sigh and she stands. Yuu pulls him down to a salty kiss that tastes of cum and cock and her; he pulls her in close, overwhelmed. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, “so good.”

She laughs, then takes his hand and presses it between her legs. He can feel her cock folded back between her legs, hot and hard. “Let me,” he says, and lifts her back onto the counter, this time with her ridiculously short dress shucked up above her hips. He pulls off her skin-tight underwear, working it down her thighs and past her knees, and spreading her legs pulls her dick up. She’s shaved, which none of his boyfriends ever have been, and it’s a little strange but not that strange; it’s still a dick, and he knows what to do with that. Hands braced on either side of her he lowers his face and presses a kiss to the wet head of her cock, then licks. She shivers and he does it again, then takes her into his mouth. 

He doesn’t suck her for long, just until she’s slick and wet. Then he raises his head and takes her into his hand while he pushes forward and kisses her. He strokes hard and deep as he kisses her, grinding his fist against her balls until she thrusts up against him, moaning, then pulling back to run his thumb over the tip. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and cants up against him, her kisses short and deep. Her eyes are closed, her expression rapturous. He wants to return the favour she gave him, so when she starts thrusting quickly, her breath coming in pants, he breaks off the kiss and lowers his head, taking her into his mouth again. 

“Oh fuck, Asahi, fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” and then she’s spilling into him and he drinks her down, down, down, coming up with a smile as her body heaves with the force of her breaths. “You fucker,” she says, but she’s smiling, laughing, and then she’s wrapping her arms and legs around him. “Take me to bed,” she says.

He does.

  
***

The next day, he meets Nishinoya Yuu. Asahi’s just rising, head aching slightly, when he hears someone in the kitchen. He gets up in just his boxers and comes out to see a short boy with gelled-up hair and wide, amber eyes making coffee. “Hey,” he says. “Is it okay if I use your kitchen? I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Asahi can’t help but stare at him. At the fine lines of his face, at the toned muscles of his shoulders and torso and thighs, at his rosebud lips. “Asahi-san,” Yuu says, carefully, “is everything okay?”

“You’re beautiful,” says Asahi, surprised. 

Yuu blinks, then grins. “You thought I’d be an ogre out of drag?”

“I didn’t think about it at all.”

“For that,” says Yuu, his eyes shining, “I’ll make you breakfast.”

END


End file.
